Father
by Live.Laugh.Love.Listen.Music
Summary: Six double-drabbles on different fathers in the Lord of the Rings, ranging from Men to Elves, Dwarves to Hobbits. Happy Father's Day to you all!
1. Arathorn, father of Aragorn

**Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own, the Lord of the Rings or any of its affiliates, and do not receive any payment for my writing. I am a fan.**

**Arathorn, father of Aragorn**

I fear for us, my son. I fear for our people, my people, now your people. You are barely two years old and yet will soon bear the responsibility of chieftain. Beloved Gilraen, my nobel men, they talk of healers or miracle cures, but I am no fool. My time in this world is up; I must depart.

I feel the strength ebbing from my weary limbs. Has it always been so taxing to move my arms? But I must. From my bloody finger I pull an ancient ring, encrusted with gore and dirt, but still visible are the entwined snakes of Finarfin. I hold it out to you, and you take it, the simple gesture laden with symbolism: with the ring, you have accepted the leadership and responsibilities of our people.

Your dear, inquisitive expression is one I hope shall remain with me as I pass on from the world. Your plump, bow-like lips curving up into a smile before, in your adorable lisp, "Pwetty. Pwetty Dada." Your wide smile, prompted by the success of your words, is my last sight.


	2. Denethor, father or Boromir and Faramir

**Warning: Not very father-y...**

**Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own, the Lord of the Rings or any of its affiliates, and do not receive any payment for my writing. I am a fan.**

**Denethor, father or Boromir and Faramir**

I cannot look at you.

How dare you resemble her? Your arrival brought her such weakness, a birth more difficult than it should have been. Your brother turned in the womb; could you not manage such a task? Was bring birthed breached a more suitable arrangement?

She is dead and you are alive. I would trade you for her in an instant. You bring me nothing but sorrow and disappointment, whilst she... Her laughter rang like music in the great halls of our fathers, her gentle hands bring comfort to both rich and poor, her sweet temperament a balm to my soul.

If you were perhaps of use then mayhap I would not detest you so. The dark times we reside in call for soldiers and generals! Great men to perform great deeds for battle and song! Not small, weedy boys who desire scholarship! What possessed you to ask that of me – to give up my future captain to the dust of the archives?

Why are you not like your brother?


	3. Drogo, father of Frodo

**Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own, the Lord of the Rings or any of its affiliates, and do not receive any payment for my writing. I am a fan.**

**Warning: description of drowning. **

**Drogo, father of Frodo**

Drowning makes for a slow death. The moments before, when you desperately attempt to hold in your last breath. The moments during, when the icy water pours into your struggling body. The moment after, as you drift away.

I think of your mother, in the moments before. Her hand grasps mine, our stubby hobbit fingers latched, as she tries desperately to haul us both to the surface. It is a doomed attempt. Neither of us can be described as anything other than voluptuous and that last dinner – whilst extremely satisfying in regards to taste – is a dead weight in our stomachs. We sink.

I think of you, in the moments during. My dear Frodo-lad, just a tween, and soon to be alone. I hope they tell you gently. There is steel in you, my son, a strength I cannot fathom, but grief can pull down the tallest of towers and bring up the strongest foundations. I hope they hold you, hope they speak kindly. I hope they take you in as their own, for though you are a Baggins in name, you are half Brandybuck in blood.

I think of the Shire, in the moment after. The rolling hills and little rivers that lend such beauty to our little home; the hobbit-lads and –lasses chasing and playing ball in the cobbled lanes; the marvellous brew in the Green Dragon.

And then I go.


	4. Earendil, father of Elrond and Elros

**Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own, the Lord of the Rings or any of its affiliates, and do not receive any payment for my writing. I am a fan.**

**Eärendil, father of Elrond and Elros.**

He had wanted girls.

Was that wrong, he wondered? Wrong to so desire a gender for his unborn babes that he had spent long hours kneeling in the incoming tide, praying to Ulmo – the Vala with which he felt close kinship – that the swiftly quickening lives would enter the world female?

He could protect girls. They who felt more inclined to heal wounds would be easier to keep close than those who caused wounds. That ill conceived notion that sons must bear arms to deserve the pride of their fathers caused more sorrow than kinslaying. These two marvellous, astounding babes he held close would one day grow and wish to fight. Oh how he wished they knew how proud he was at this very moment! Proud of their fluttering hearts and soft breath and effortless perfection! They needed no sword to provoke such affection.

They were tiny, new born into a dark world, a world that destroyed childhoods and tore families apart. They would grow and face this darkness whilst he stood alone in longing for the innocence they would lose in gore.

He could not protect his boys.


	5. Elrond, father of Arwen

**Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own, the Lord of the Rings or any of its affiliates, and do not receive any payment for my writing. I am a fan.**

**Elrond, father of Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen.**

She seemed more beautiful than bearable through the haze of his tears, yet he did not remove his gaze. These moments, these few, happy moments, would be among his last and he would treasure each and all as though they were formed of pure mithril.

Her happiness enchanted her radiant face and warmed the hearts of all those near. So close Middle Earth had come to death and destruction, her hopes torn down to one last, resilient thread; but they had succeeded, and evil was vanquished for a time, and her dreams had burst forth into reality.

She clasped the hand of Elessar, the King brought forth from shadow, the pair as resplendent and awe inspiring as Beren and Luthien, heroes of an age long past. She was no longer the daughter of Elrond, but the wife of Elessar Telcontar, Queen of the Reunited Kingdom. The loss tore at his heart.

In a movement, his hands were both clasped, one by each of his beloved sons. They alone came close to understanding the magnitude of his pain, and they alone understood as he did the sacrifice of Arwen's choice, one they two would soon face.

Would either follow their father into the Land of Eternity, or would they choose pass out of the circles of the world with their sister? It was knowledge Lord Elrond both longed for and dreaded.


	6. Gloin, father of Gimli

**Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own, the Lord of the Rings or any of its affiliates, and do not receive any payment for my writing. I am a fan.**

**Gloin, father of Gimli**

The hilarity of the moment almost overwhelmed him, but he managed – just – to contain himself. His son's wide, earthy eyes peaked comically over the edge of his blanket, almost hidden from sight by the shock of tangled, red hair spilling around his shoulders.

"What happened next, Papa?" His voice, still adorably high-pitched, came out as a squeak.

"Then," Gloin murmed slowly, "the dragon... POUNCED!" And with this, he leaped forward, his fingers targeting his young son's sides, causing Gimli to burst into delighted giggles and squirm furiously out of his father's reach.

"Not fair, not fair," he laughed, his already tangled hair twisting into burls that would be devilishly difficult to remove by comb the next morning.

"Ah, but battle isn't fair, my young warrior," Gloin counted, ceasing his assult on poor Gimli's sides to the underside of his feet.

"No, battle is sneaky!" cried Gimli, worming his way out of his father's grip and launching himself at a surprised Gloin. The pair wrestled before Gloin allowed his son to claim victory, laughing heartily as Gimli giggled in joy.

"I'm going to be the best Warrior ever, Papa!" Gimli cried, "Even better than the Elves!"

"I have no doubt about it, young one! Now, bed, before Mother punishes us both!"


End file.
